In my dream, Sicily was always covered in gold. Everything was gold: the golden Baroque cities glistening under the glowing sun of August, and far awa..., the gently rising mountains of Theocritus directing our gaze to Homer's wine-dark sea. Now when I look back at myself at the age of fifteen, I recall only two pieces of literature that lent my monotonous school life a subtle romantic air: A la recherche du temps perdu by Marcel Proust and the Eclogues by Virgil. For a short time I was so. She shook underneath me with reverberating orgasms several times, but I kept drilling into her with her own wetness spilling out of her and bursts. We must have fucked in the bed for an hour before we were both covered in sweat and her legs were drenched in her own cum.We paused in a moment of exhaustion with me laying on top of her, my cock still thrusting gently into her. We're lying in a puddle of sweat. By then, I was exhausted and my own orgasm was eluding me. Feeling disgusting and. More

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